


Fifth Tale

by elven_prophecy



Series: Tales from the Darkest Dungeons [5]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Camping, Character Death, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Freeform, Gambling, Grief/Mourning, Plague Doctor has ADHD, Poison, Poker, The Courtyard DLC, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-03-01 04:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elven_prophecy/pseuds/elven_prophecy
Summary: Enjoy!Comments are Love!Comments are Life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are Love!
> 
> Comments are Life!

###  1

   There was something to be said for the swill that was served in the tavern.  It tasted like it had been made inside a chamber pot, and then aged ever so delicately in a tub filled with rotting old (and we mean moth-ridden,  _ old _ ) clothes.  It was a good thing the bartender did not charge for it for it did not raise the morale.  Not one little bit.

   Paracelsus was staring inside the empty bottle that had contained said alcohol with a leery expression on her masked face.  She hadn’t drank any of this particular vintage, nor was she planning too, but she was curious about the content. If she could harvest it into a deadly concoction to be used on the battlefield and what affect it would have on the flora and fauna of the Hamlet.

   Since having come to the Hamlet, her collections of poisons and toxins had dwindled to a paltry three vials.  She was in dire need of more ingredients. She couldn’t afford to leave on another adventure without replenishing her stock, but replenishing her stock meant she had to go out into the Weald (and she did not want to go alone). 

   She’d been sitting alone at a table when the door to the tavern had swung open and a couple of Bounty Hunters had strolled in.  One had gone to the bartender with a rolled up parchment which he unrolled and showed to the barkeep while the other leaned against the counter on one elbow and took a look about the room.  

   Paracelsus had tilted her head to the side (very much like a bird) and had stared back at the Bounty Hunter through her goggles with interest.  He was masked (like she was) except his rounded helmet was slightly different and more beneficial (her hood wouldn’t protect her from a blow to the head, his would).  He had a veil-like cloth that descended from his helmet that covered the bottom half of his face (his partner had the same armour on). The rest of his armour looked like scales overlapping each other in a descending pattern, there was a nasty looking axe on his back, a hook dangled from his belt (there was a length of rope attached to it) along with what looked like some water gourds.

   He broke contact first and turned his head towards his partner.  She didn’t hear what they talked about, but watched as they left the tavern.  She got to her feet and followed after them curiously. She was standing outside the inn when she caught sight of them heading towards the Heir’s house.

   She grinned behind her mask and clapped her hands excitedly.  They were going to be signing up with the Heir! Which meant they would be available to go on adventures soon!  She giggled excitedly and ran back towards the Barracks to look over the posting board (where missions were posted) totally forgetting that she couldn’t go on anywhere until her poisons were restocked.  

   She was definitely getting ahead of herself (she hadn’t even asked them if they wanted to go on an adventure or not) as she scanned the postings that the Heir had put up at the beginning of the week.  There wasn’t much left available this week that she wanted to do, but still she looked. She hadn’t gone back out since she’d returned from killing the Siren, and she was getting admittedly restless. There was a nice, short scouting mission in the Weald... 

   Paracelsus was still staring at the board when the two Hunters finally entered the barracks.  She turned her head and stared at the pair through her goggles. The first Hunter scanned the room, and without looking at his partner, grabbed his shoulder and pointed across the big room.

   The Plague Doctor turned her head to see what he was pointing at.  It was Dismas… one of the Heir’s favourites (not that she was jealous, on the contrary, being a favourite meant he went out more…).  She tilted her head to the side and glanced back towards the Hunters. They were both staring in Dismas’ direction now. Uh oh...

   The big room (which was bustling with voices from all the occupants) seem to zone out as she focused on the Hunters.  They separated, the one she’d made eye contact with at the Tavern stayed by the door while the other approached Dismas, his steps were slow and deliberate.

   He didn’t get close before the Crusader Reynauld (the other favourite), intercepted.  He stood more than a few inches over the Hunter and shook his head very slowly. “Whatever bounty you think you will get,” his deep voice echoed hollowly from within his helmet, “it has been nullified by the Crusaders of Light, he has been Conscripted.” 

   There was a heavy silence that suddenly encompassed the room.  There was a muffled grunt as the Bounty Hunter reached up and grabbed the rolled up parchment on his shoulder.  He unrolled it and showed it to the Crusader. The latter grabbed the parchment and glanced down to peruse it.

   It was a wanted ad, a wanted  _ alive _ ad.  That paid out the  _ ridiculous _ sum of fifty thousand gold pieces.  For Dismas. Wanted for the murder of the Duchess of Ferrington and her son, Viscount of Mayberry.  There a small notation that he (Dismas, he presumed) traveled with a Crusader and that should he interfere to bring him along for an added bonus. 

   Reynauld rolled the parchment back up and handed it back to the Bounty Hunter.  Paracelsus licked her suddenly dry lips and blinked rapidly as she watched fascinated.  She didn’t know what that parchment had read, but it didn’t look like it had fazed the Crusader any.  

   The doors to the barrack creaked open and in entered a familiar, behemoth of a man, the Doctor noticed it from the corner of her eye and  _ he _ fully caught her attention (the Heir had apparently sent reinforcements to the Barracks, she must have known something would come up).  The Hunter that had been guarding the door moved and slowly backed away from the big masked man. The Leper (or the Heir’s lap dog if one listened to the rumours) tilted his head slightly to gaze down at the Hunter.

   “The Madam warned you,” the Leper spoke impassively from within his mask, his twisted lips lifting briefly. “No trouble, Hunter.”

   The Bounty Hunter by the door eyed the Leper from top to bottom and then glanced towards his buddy who was still face to face with the Crusader. “Jason!” he called, his voice muffled by his own mask.

   Jason glanced back and froze.  The Leper had lowered his broken blade so that it pointed downward, he was holding it up with one armoured hand.  He was a good head taller than Tardif (the second Bounty Hunter) and much wider. His hand fisted and he made to reach back for his axe when a gauntleted hand grabbed a hold of his wrist.

   “If you disobey the Heir, then you forfeit your life,” Reynauld spoke slowly, enunciating his words carefully.

   The Hunter glanced back towards Reynauld, who was joined by Dismas. “Who is the Heir to have so much power?”

   “Didn’t ya see the eyes watchin’ ya on the Old Road?” Dismas asked, lowering his scarf.

   “She keeps the undead and Fungal swarms at bay,” William explained from his cot.

   “And the Fishfolk keep to the Cove cause of her!” A Musketeer piped up from the corner.

   “Her blood has power on this land of hers, like a monster repellent of sorts” Paracelsus exclaimed, running towards the Leper and the other Hunter, “It’s all tied in with her Ancestor!”

      The Hunters glanced at each other and Jason nodded towards Reynauld. “Fine then, but he dies here,” he nodded towards Dismas, “We take his corpse.”

    Reynauld remained still and silent while Dismas shrugged. “Doubt ye’ll want my corpse if I am felled ‘ere, maybe ye need to go on a ‘venture into the old Ruins to really appreciate my words.”

    “Oooo!  Oooo! Oooo!  I’ll go with!” Paracelsus almost shrieked in excitement (she didn’t notice both the Leper and Tardif cringing at the pitch of her voice) and then she stilled (Toxins!   _Fuck_!) and her head dropped suddenly, “Nevermind…” she muttered, sounding deflated, “I have plants to gather first.”

   Her shoulders drooped and she marched ever so slowly towards her own cot and fell in it like a stone.  She really needed to stop jumping into everything without preparation. Her impulsive nature had gotten her into more trouble than she could remember, including getting booted from medical school (she didn’t want to think about those particulars details right now).

   Without her poisons and her toxins, she wasn’t going to be much use to anyone.  She needed to make more of her special cures and her potions too. She promised herself a long adventure if she could fill her entire satchel by the end of the week with everything she needed to cause as much damage as possible while being as beneficial as she could be for her team.  A really long adventure with so much plant gathering that she's going to be overstocked for weeks.  


   She fell asleep just as the sounds of the room were returning to normal, the tension easing dramatically.  The Hunters had been advised that the gold offered for Dismas was paltry in comparison with what they could make here in the Hamlet if they fell in with the Heir’s plan.  It was also reiterated that should anything befall Dismas that was not caused by their surroundings, the Hunters would not leave the Hamlet alive. 

   Period.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 2

   Paracelsus was picking through poisonous plants and fungi at the edge of the Weald.  She’d filled her satchel to bursting with as much of the materials she could gather. She had been out there since early that morning, hoping that the usual occupants would not be stirring near the edge of town.

   She straightened, still on her knees, placing her hands on her knees as she took a deep breath of her incenses at the end of her beaked mask.  The sun was setting in the distance and her eye caught the ruins of the manor up on the cliff, the jagged, stone columns poking out of the ground like a skeleton hand, clawed and deformed.  A shiver of apprehension crawled down her spine and she averted her gaze.

   There was a lot of work to be done before she could consider herself ready to leave the Hamlet.  She had so much to do that she couldn’t even think about going on an adventure yet. She got to her feet and grabbing her overstuffed satchel, made her way back to the barracks.

   She needed a laboratory to distill and brew her poisons.  Where would she find that—the Heir. She stopped trudging her way to the barracks and turned her head towards the bloated dead tree where the small cottage that belonged to the Heir stood by its lonesome.  The Heir would know where she could find a laboratory for her poisons.

   Paracelsus changed her route and was walking deliberately towards the Heir’s house.  She straightened before the door and raised a gloved hand to knock when the door opened.  The Plague Doctor had to crane her head back to look up into the bronze mask of the Leper.  She pressed her lips together from behind her own cowl and slowly lowered her hand.

   “Uh...Hi!” she piped up, “I was just… well you see…” she rubbed her hands together as the man remained silent, “Uhm… I need a…” she made a circular motion with her one hand near her head as though trying to get the words out faster, despite the fact that she was tripping over her own tongue, “A-a place for my poisons!  Yes!” her voice raised, “I need a laboratory to mix my poisons and toxins and serums and…” she trailed off as the Leper continued to stare at her in silence. “Is that a no?” her beak tilted up even higher as she shrunk back.

   “Who is it, Baldwin?” the Heir’s voice floated from another room, the Leper turned his head to glance at the Heir (Paracelsus couldn’t see into the house so this was assumed).

   “A Plague Doctor is seeking aid, Madam,” he responded politely, his voice low.

   “Aid?” the Heir appeared at his side, and looked outside to see Paracelsus wiggling her fingers at her awkwardly in greeting, her satchel at her feet. “Oh… hello.”

   The Heir stepped around the big man (though he stayed exactly where he was) and came to stand in the entrance of the door.  She wrapped her black shawl tighter around her small body and smiled hesitantly at Paracelsus.

   “Do you know where I could find a lab to craft my poisons?” Paracelsus asked, trying to ignore the large man hovering.  

   “In the basement,” the Heir began, “There might be something like that in the cellar…” she turned and almost walked into Baldwin who hadn’t moved.  She patted his bronze cuirass instead and walked around him, inviting the Doctor to follow her.

   Paracelsus did not hesitate and grabbed her satchel and almost ran after the Heir as she paused by a door beneath some stairs.  No words were exchanged as they made their way into the basement of the little house. The Doctor found all manners of weird and odd things were crammed together but once her eyes landed on a long counter covered with delicate apparatuses, glass vials, beakers and anything else she could ever need.

   “Yes!” she squeaked happily and hugged the Heir impulsively. “This is exactly what I need!  Thank you!”

   The Heir looked stunned for a moment before she gathered herself and nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she smiled at the Doctor and left her alone.   

   Paracelsus did not hesitate and placed her satchel on the counter, taking out all her ingredients.  She grabbed a mortar and pestle and began the painstaking work of concocting her special brews and toxins.  Flames reflected off her goggles, and the fumes filled the basement with an odour that would have probably put anyone not wearing a special mask in the medical ward for a couple of weeks.

    She didn’t know how long she was down in the cellar, but when she was done, her satchel was full to the brim with vials and bottles and potions.  Her supply had been fully restocked.

   A slow smile spread across her hidden face.  She could travel again.

***********

   She was staring at the posting board in the barracks when she overheard Dismas talking to Reynauld about the Bounty Hunters from before.  One had died in the old Ruins, and the other had gone Irrational and had almost killed William the Houndmaster (his dog had almost killed the Hunter).  

   Paracelsus turned her full attention towards the pair. “Are they back?”

   Dismas smirked at her and shrugged while Reynauld remained silent. “Oh they be back,” the thief nodded, “I’d stay away if I was you.”

   “You’re not me!” Paracelsus countered and ran for the door.  They were back from the Ruins, which meant either the Church or the Tavern.  Church was empty save for the old Abbott and the Sisters of St.Martha, and the Tavern was utterly deserted except for the usual harlots (where were they hiding?).  She was standing outside the Tavern when she spotted William the Houndmaster making his way towards the training ring. She bolted after him.

    “Hey!” she yelled, racing up to him.  He stopped and she noticed his dog barking, her tail wagging playfully.  The dog wasn’t hurt in the scuffle.

   “Yes?” William queried as she stopped in front of him.

   “Where are the Bounty Hunters you traveled with earlier?” she wheezed, out of breath.

   “Graveyard,” he answered pointing towards the giant cemetery that overflowed into the Weald.  

   “Both of them?” she gasped, suddenly disappointed she didn’t get to properly introduce herself before they died.  

   “Yeah,” William harrumphed, “I still can’t believe he dragged his buddy out of there…”

   Realization dawned on her, so only one died… she thanked William and bolted for the graveyard.  She made a point of ignoring all the Plague Doctor masks hanging off rickety wooden crosses and made for the only person she could see.  She recognized the hunter that had made eye contact with her and noticed he stood in front of a plain, unmarked monument with fresh dirt.  There was a helmet on the stone.

   She slowed her pace and stood quietly for a moment, not wanting to intrude just yet.   

   “What do you want?” his voice startled her and she squeaked as she jumped out of her skin.

   “To say I’m sorry for your friend,” she licked her lips and then cleared her throat as he remained silent, “My name is Paracelsus,” she introduced herself, “I was wondering if you’d join—”

   “No.”

   “You didn’t let me finish,” she clicked her tongue, “I wasn’t going to—”

   “No,” he repeated, he hadn’t even turned around to look at her.

   “You know,” she began, “Cutting people off is—”

   Instead of interrupting her that time, he’d turned around and his big hand had placed itself over her mask where her mouth was, folding her beak against her chest almost.  Her eyes widened in behind her mask in outrage. How dare he!?

   “Hey!” she squawked, her voice muffled.  She tried to wrench her head out of his grip, but his fingers tightened painfully about her mouth.  She felt like she’d have five little bruises across her face in the morning.

   “Shhh,” he raised a finger to his mask where his mouth would be, “Just be quiet.” He released her face and walked out of the graveyard.  She glowered at his back and huffed angrily as she stomped after him.

    “That’s not a nice way to treat someone!” she raged at his back as the iron wrought gates closed behind her.  He said nothing as he made his way towards the Tavern, she followed, bound and bent to get an apology from him.

    He made his way towards the back of the bar where the gaming hall was kept and sat down at a table with a deck of cards.  She sat down beside him. “You won’t be rid of me that easily!” she snapped, “I deserve an apology!”

    “Wait a while and you might get one,” he muttered, shuffling the cards absentmindedly.  She believed him and pulled out a chair beside him and sat down with a huff. He stopped shuffling and glanced in her direction before shrugging and dealing her in.

   She glanced about the room and then down at the cards on the table. “What are you doing?” she asked.

   “Dealing you in since you insist on keeping me company,” he glowered, glancing down at his two cards and then turning his helmeted head in her direction.  He tapped her two cards with a finger.

   She grabbed them and frowned behind her mask.  Two red aces. Was that good? What were they playing? “What is the object of the game?” she asked, eyeing her cards thoughtfully.

   “You’ve never played poker?” he snorted, his voice muffled.  She shook her head. “Tell you what then, you win, I’ll listen, you lose, you leave me alone, sound good?”

   That got her attention. “A wager then?” she grinned and then her shoulders drooped, “How am I to know you’re telling the truth?”

   “You have my word,” he spoke solemnly.  She jumped excitedly in her chair and clutched her cards to her chest.

   “Okay!” she beamed and then giggled to herself, "So if I win you're mine and if I lose, you poof!  Got it!"

   “Then let’s begin,” he drawled, not explaining the rules to her, figuring she’d lose.  He cut the deck and flipped the three top cards.  An ace of spades, an ace of clubs and an eight of diamonds.  He smiled from behind his mask, a slow deliberate smile.  He had a full house (his cards a pair of black eights).  The odds were in his favour.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!
> 
> They are playing Texas Hold 'em poker btw. I don't care if inaccurate, the joys of fanfic lol

###  3

    "You can't be fucking serious…!?" he growled, lowering his head to better glare at the Plague Doctor from across the table.  She tilted her own infuriating head to the side and folded her hands neatly in front of her cards ( _ Pocket _ fucking  _ aces!! _ ).  And he'd turned over the other two aces.  He'd had a fucking full house  _ to start _ …

    A fucking full house to start.  Let's repeat that so that it can sink in properly.  _A._ _Fucking.  Full. House.  To. Start._ _  
_

   And somehow against  _ all _ odds, the fourth eight had flipped on the fucking River.  ON THE RIVER the FOURTH EIGHT! For the first time in his life, Tardif had a four of a kind.  He’d wagered it all, his body, his time, his very self. What were the odds of him losing? Astronomical really.  How could he have fathomed that she would have POCKET fucking ACE?!? WHO GETS POCKET ACES?!?!? 

    "Four ones." Her voice was muffled and dejected, she’d gone all in too (on the River mimicking his bets).  He’d frozen in absolute shock as he stared at the cards she’d put on the table. Time had come to a stop and he could hear the beating of his heart as it echoed like thunder in his head.  His eyes fixated on her cards.

   No...

   That he was able to lower his own cards so calmly, as though he weren’t staring into the very mouth of the abyss, just barely hanging on to his sanity, was unbelievable.  How.  _ How _ …?  His body started shaking uncontrollably and he barely managed to not rip the cards into millions of little pieces or flip the very table on which they were playing across the room.  H O W ?

   “You have four eights,” she muttered and then sighed, “You beat me it seems.” Her voice grated on Tardif's nerves so much that his fingers clenched on the table as though it were her scrawny fucking neck.  His pride and honour were clamoring in his head as he gritted his teeth, feeling the veins on the side of his neck start popping out of his skin.  _ He'd given her his word _ .

   FUCK!  FUCK!!  FUCK!!!!!!!!

    "Aces," he snapped, his eyebrow twitching behind his helmet (FUCK!!!!!!).  She shrugged in a nonchalant manner and waved that detail off. His muscles clenched simultaneously as he visualized his fingers about her throat again.  He barely moved a muscle beneath her goggled stare.

   "I win?" she queried, in surprise.  He snorted and nodded once, the bones in his neck cracking loudly.  He pressed his lips tightly together to prevent making a fool of himself by asking for a rematch (FUCK!!!).   

   The bitch won fair and square.  Light be damned. He just kept his shoulders from drooping in defeat. 

    She clapped her hands together like a child and squealed. "Oooo, so that means you're mine!" (FUCK!!!!!)

   "I said I would  _ listen _ ," he clarified, his voice tense.  She tilted her head again and he heard his teeth grinding in his mouth loudly.  He was going to kill her, if she didn’t kill him first with her incessant chatter.

   “You wagered your body on the fifth card,” she reminded him.

   “The River,” he corrected her automatically and then clenched his hands into fists. “What do you want then?” he forced out.

    She was staring at him in the same manner he imagined she stared at a frog she was dissecting, as if he were one of her many experiments. “A long adventure,” she said calmly, “I promised myself a…”

   “Done,” he cut her off and got to his feet, “Let’s go.”

   She jumped to her own feet and stomped the ground. “We can’t!  You just got back!”

   “And I’m already good to go,” he growled, feeling his ire increase a smidgen.

   “We’re only two!” she put both her gloved fists on her hips and leaned forward a little.

   “Find your party and let’s get this over with.”

    She nodded at him quickly and bolted from the Tavern.  He watched her go with a sense of dread and foreboding.  He remained calm as he lowered his head to look at their cards, at her hand specifically.  Pocket aces…

   He shook his head and walked away from the gaming hall.  He was done with poker for a long time now. It was this place.  Things weren’t  _ right _ in the hamlet.

    He better understood now what their last bounty, Dismas, had meant by the reward on his head being paltry.  The rewards he’d gotten from that last run that had killed Jason had stumped him over twenty thousand gold coins.  If Jason had lived he would have gladly have kept going. They’d always watched each other’s backs.  He'd had every intention of taking the next coach out of here... fuck.  


   He took a deep breath as he made his way back towards the bar.  The barkeep handed him a green bottle (he dropped few gold coins on the counter) and walked away.  He was going to sit at Jason’s grave and get plastered out of his mind. One last drink with his lifetime partner.  A time to say goodbye to his best friend.

   Tardif hung his head as he made for the large cemetery, liquor bottle in hand.  He already missed him…

************

   Paracelsus was lost in thought.  Now that she had her Hunter, where could she use him effectively?  The pigmen in the Warrens made her really nervous and were hard to poison but easy to bleed (expression 'bleeding like a stuck pig' anyone?).  The fishes in the Cove were easy to poison but hard to bleed and since the incident with the Siren she had no wish to return there. The Weald and its infestation of the Fungi and the Ruins with its undead.  The undead were easy to stun and poison, and acid helped make those bones brittle for hard hits. Especially for a hard hitter like the Bounty Hunter. 

   Ruins it was then.  Now who else was good in the Ruins?  Her goggles trained on the Church as she ran by it on her way towards the barracks.  A Sister! She squealed and skidded to a stop, kicking up dust and dirt. They hurt the undead almost as much as a… Her eyes widened behind her mask.  Crusader! Reynauld!

    Reynauld was  _ definitely _ in the barracks.  She’d beg on her hands and knees, grab a hold of his legs (he’d have to drag her around for she would not let go) and prostrate herself before him.  He’d be perfect for a Ruins run. Which meant she  _ had _ to get him.

   But first she had to get the Sister.  A Healer was a must in the Ruins, they could light up the darkness and banish the unholy horrors.  Not to mention knit flesh and heal broken bones, bring someone back from the very brink of death. She pulled the heavy wooden doors open of the Church and walked in slowly.  

   The songs of the Verse book echoed through the hallowed halls and the Plague Doctor felt a chill go down her spine as she passed a rather bloody looking pail.  Why would there be a bloody pail in the Church? This was not the medical ward… her thoughts trailed off as a tall, bloody, extremely muscular man (and he was half-naked) walked by her.  He was covered in scars and open wounds that were still bleeding. She didn’t see his face because he wore a blood-stained shroud-like hood.

   Her eyes widened beneath her mask and she gave her head a shake.  What was she doing…? Oh yes, a sister of the Light… she muttered under her breath and made her way towards the singing and ran right into the dour and half-mad Abbott.  

       “Come you seeking salvation?” he asked in that nasally voice that she didn’t like.  In the right light, with the shadows dancing across his bony features, the Abbott could almost be mistaken for a walking skeleton.

   “Actually I was looking for a Sister…” she trailed off as she spied at least two Sisters walking towards them, “And I found one!” she squeaked and walked around the Abbott, making a beeline directly for the clerics.

   One was wearing the battle armour of the Sisters, breastplate and mace with the robes of the order.  The other was dressed in habits usually worn by the clergy. She went straight for the battle ready Sister.

   “Would you join me on a long quest in the Ruins?” she bowed her beaked head before the two women.  They both bowed and the armoured Sister nodded.

   “I would be delighted to banish the Darkness with you,” she said solemnly, “My name is Sister Liliana.” 

   “Thank you, Lily!” Paracelsus squealed, giving the woman a quick and impulsive hug, “I’ll sign you up with us for next week!” and with those words the Plague Doctor flew out of the Church and made her way to the barracks.

  It was time to get her hands on the Crusader.  She found Reynauld in the barracks, sitting in his cot fully armed, reading the Verse book (which is all he ever did in town really, well, that and pray).  She barely contained her excitement as she made her way gingerly towards him.

   “Reynauld,” she cleared her throat and stopped beside his bed.  The Crusader barely raised his head to glance at her, she continued embolden, “Would you join us in the Ruins next week?  I have a Sister, me and a Bounty Hunter for a long expedition.”

   He must have stared at her for a good minute before he nodded again and lowered his helmeted head back to his Verse book.  She beamed down at him and hopped beside his bed before bounding towards the posting board. She signed up their names on the only long quest available in the Ruins.

   She grinned behind her mask.  This was going to be worth every minute of hell.  She’d put together a team worthy of a long trek. Only a week to wait… she didn’t think she could wait that long.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 4  

    All right, she was willing to admit that a long expedition might not have been the wisest decision.  Sure she’d stuffed her satchel full of toxins and cures, sure she’d come beyond prepared, and sure she had assembled a great team, _but_ there was an infinite amount of undead crawling here that made the halls seem never ending.

    Reynauld, she was going to reward somehow for managing to keep everyone calm (somewhat…).  She didn’t know yet how she was going to—

    “Fuck!” Tardif snarled, smashing his axe down on a brittle skull.  The cranium exploded into millions of fragments that looked remarkably like confetti.  Paracelsus froze momentarily distracted by the particles, her goggles reflecting the torch light as her head tilted to the side slightly.

    A Bone Lancer slid his spear down their line making an attempt at impaling them all.   Paracelsus just barely managed to twist to the side, avoiding a probably-fatal blow (And phew!).  Lily was nicked by the spear and screamed out in pain (and ouch!). The Vestal's eyes shifted from the Unholy horrors to the dancing shadows beyond that drew ever closer in their dwindling torch light.  It was as if the very claws of Death were reaching out for them. Lily whimpered in pain and fright. 

    Reynauld raised his banner high, casting a holy glow across the room that brightened even the darkest corners briefly.  The action was usually accompanied with platitudes from the Verse Book about Light banishing Darkness… as an intellectual, the concept of Religion… Paracelsus' thoughts trailed off as the Lancer’s empty eye socket seemed to fix on her.  And undead weren’t supposed to be walking around either…

    She squealed in fear as she tossed an acid vial at the foot of another skeleton, a Shieldwall this time.  It was eerie how much the shield-wielding monster reminded her of the old Man-at-Arms… her thoughts trailed off again as Tardif viciously punched the head off the Shieldwall with a vicious uppercut (She couldn't restrain herself from crying out in delight if she tried).  The bones clattered to the floor in a heap. 

    The Lancer (being the last dead standing) was quick to fall with Reynauld and the Bounty Hunter tag teaming it.  Holy sword and axe making short work of it. There was no stopping Paracelsus' excited clapping as they all stood there panting with effort.  She fist pumped and called out encouragements that fell on deaf ears (except for one).

     Everyone took a moment to take a deep, relaxing breath.  Paracelsus clenched her hands closed to prevent them from shaking and straightened her back.  She was not going to break under pressure, she was a reed, not an oak. A reed bends, an oak does not, it breaks.  

    "We should camp," Lily finally broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper in the ensuing stillness.  Paracelsus was nodding in accord as she turned her head to look at the Crusader pleadingly.

    Metal grating on metal echoed as Reynauld turned his head to glance back at them.  He tilted his head forward a bit to better see the Sister (he completely ignored the Plague Doctor).  He remained still for a brief moment before he nodded abruptly. There was a general sense of relief as they pushed on to the next empty room.  

    Lily was the first to drop her pack to the ground.  The Plague Doctor gently set her satchel down and plopped beside it unceremoniously.  The Crusader waited until they were all in the room before he barricaded it with an old, rotted and very large bookshelf that was already near the door.  And he did this alone (internal whistle of appreciation).

     The Vestal put her hands together close to her lips, “Let safety be upon us...let us be veiled in holy Light _._ ” The fire flared briefly and the whole room was encased in light.  It was of such short duration it would have been missed if Paracelsus had blinked, which she had not. 

    “Forget not that our errand is holy and just! Light will prevail!” Reynauld said solemnly as he sat back down on the ground beside the Bounty Hunter.

    “Even towering beasts can be killed with a well-placed blow,” the Hunter murmured to no one in particular, he was staring at the dancing flames of the fire.

    Paracelsus was debating trying some experimental vapours on Lily.  She was almost positive she had created a healing concoction but she wanted to try it on a wounded body.  Although by the slight tremble to her shoulders, she doubted Lily would be accepting of her help. So instead she wrapped a bandage over the Vestal’s wound and murmured a platitude along the lines that she needed to change the bandage at least twice daily.  

     “Whoever packed all this food, I could kiss you!” the Doctor’s beaked head turned towards Reynauld and she blinked in surprise as she watched the Crusader break apart crusted bread and cheese.  He'd lifted the visor of his helmet and was eating whole heartedly.  

    “We have enough firewood to last the night,” Lily’s voice was calmer than it had been before.  Paracelsus was clinical in her analysis. The stress was literally melting off her party, and she smiled to herself behind the mask.  This was good. Stress killed many here...

     This group was evenly matched and well-balanced, they had a healer, a de-stresser, a heavy hitter and a status effect-dealing expert (that was her).  There could potentially be some good synergy between them if their luck continued to hold out, and she was positive it would.

     It wasn't long after feeding that everyone turned in for the night, except Paracelsus.  She went through the motions, she curled up with Lily, holding the Vestal close until the latter fell into a deep sleep, stayed on her side for twenty minutes before giving up.

     She sat up deliberately and glanced about their campsite.  The Crusader had fallen asleep sitting up, his long sword was pointed downwards towards his feet while he hugged the hilt to his armoured chest.  His helmed head was leaning forward a bit. He looked to the outside world like a man guarding the camp, although his soft snoring would immediately give away to anyone sneaking up on them that he was really sleeping.

     Tardif was on his back still wearing his helmet, both of his arms up with his hands beneath his head, and Lily was curled in a fetal position at the edge of the fire.  Paracelsus sighed heavily and tossed another log on the fire, she didn't notice the Hunter turning his head very carefully in her direction. He remained silent.

     She sat staring at the fire for a few more minutes, contemplating the journey on the morrow.  She sighed again before she curled into a tight ball between the Vestal and Tardif. She tossed and turned most of the night until a big, scaled armoured hand grabbed a hold of her gloved fingers and tightened.  She stilled.

***********

    "Run!" Reynauld hollered as he raised his shield to block a vicious-looking hit from a terrifying-looking monster.  It looked like a giant insect trying to masquerade as a human. It was even dressed in a mode of fashion that had been out of style for at least half a century (torn and rotted fashion).  A disheveled white wig sat atop its head, out of place with its large antennae and circular eyes. There was a couple giant mosquitoes with it, buzzing from their wings grating on already frayed nerves.

     Paracelsus narrowed her eyes behind her goggles and grabbed a large, green bottle from her satchel.  Run? Out of the question. The big beastie was begging to be dissected. She smashed the bottle on the ground right at the feet of the man-centipede (A Chevalier). Although, Paracelsus tilted her head to the side, it looked more like a centipede and a praying mantis mated and this was their love child.

    The creature shrieked and its large head dropped. "Ah ha!" she screamed happily, she'd stunned the damn thing.  She couldn't help herself as she grabbed Tardif's scaled shoulder and pointed to the stunned insect. "Finish it!"

    The Hunter glanced back at her briefly and his nod was missed as she was staring at the monster.  He flipped his deadly axe in hand a couple times, watching for an opening between the giant mosquitoes.  He remained still for half a heartbeat before he took off like a wolf. He dodged the smaller insects, reached back with his ax and threw himself at the Chevalier.

     He made a crunching noise as he hit the bug.  She was unsure if… the monster broke in half. That answered her unspoken question.  He'd done it! She squealed. Now they just had to deal with the Sycophants. She corrected herself, Sycophant, Reynauld had just killed one.  He'd cut the wings off and then had stepped on its horrible head with his armoured boot, popping it like a mutated pimple.

    Lily healed the group, murmuring verses from the Book, quoting Psalms incessantly.  Tardif snorted as the mosquito flew just out of reach as he made to cut it down. Reynauld raised his banner and Paracelsus decided she'd had enough and unsheathed her unofficial scalpel, a tiny flamberge dagger.  She moved quickly as she got beneath the insect (it had floated back within reach) and raised her dagger. The blade entered the thorax and she eviscerated the creature. She was covered in entrails when she returned to the group.

     Her heart was drumming in her head as she removed as much yellow gore as she could. 

    "What was that?" Lily whispered, her voice shaking.

    "A monster from the Courtyard," Reynauld answered, sheathing his sword, "This changes things. We're not prepared for this."

    "What are you talking about?" Paracelsus asked as she bent over the corpse of the Chevalier, using her dagger to open its mouth.

    "We did not come prepared for the Curse," Reynauld said, looking in the Plague Doctor's direction.

    Paracelsus wasn't paying attention to him any more.  She was too busy examining the creature's mandibles… and tongue.  Very distinct _human_ tongue.  She pulled away from the monster and shook her head slowly.

   "I need more specimens…" she was cut off by the Vestal.

   "We're leaving!" The Sister was final.

   Paracelsus frowned and would have objected had Tardif not grabbed her face, squishing her beak against her chest again.  He wasn't hurting her but he'd successfully silenced her. "Shhh," he brought a finger to where his lips would be, "Shut up for once and just nod your head."  Her arms failed about as he forced her to nod her head.  She was cursing him when he turned around and grabbed her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder she was too stunned to react. "Let's go back now."

    She was struggling, punching and slapping his back and ass. "Put me down!" She shrieked.  He jostled her roughly, the air was knocked out of her by his shoulder in her stomach. He got his point across and she was silent the rest of the way to town.


End file.
